


Her Left Hand Woman

by navaan



Category: Enola Holmes Series - Nancy Springer
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Family Bonding, POV Sherlock Holmes, Post-Canon, Secret Relationship, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:34:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27691469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: After a few years brother and sister have developed a closer relationship and Sherlock gets a glimpse into Enola's life unexpectedly.
Relationships: Cecily Alistair/Enola Holmes
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31
Collections: Holmestice Exchange - Winter 2020





	Her Left Hand Woman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gray_Cardinal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Cardinal/gifts).



“You have moved out of the Professional Women’s Club?” Sherlock stated more than asked as he looked around my newly redecorated office room. 

“It is a matter of economic efficiency,” Enola replied, stacking the issue of the Daily Telegraph that she’d been scanning neatly on top of the others that were gathering on a chair by the window. 

“I am sure,” he agreed. He had noticed, of course, that there was no longer any sign of Dr. Ragostin at the door and so far no new sign had been placed. Enola has started to work under her own name. “No more Ms. Meshle, no more Dr. Agostin, I presume?”

“Ah,” Enola replied, “from time to time they still have their uses.”

Sherlock nodded magnanimously. Over the past years he had found more common ground with this much younger sibling than he would ever have imagined. He had spent years perfecting his own disguises and a whole repertoire on characters he could fall back on if needed. These days the two of them shared make-up tipps and kept each other apprised of new shops of interest - even though their approaches to most costumes were necessarily different. Enola had more need for elaborate silk dresses and wigs than he would ever have - but he had taken note of the inventive ways his sister had come to use some of the trappings of female clothing.

It had helped him spot a hidden knife in one of his last cases.

“You’re not here to chastise me for moving out of the club?”

“Enola,” he said in a slightly affronted manner, “I think we have established that you’re not in need of a keeper any more than I am.”

“Doctor Watson would disagree, I am sure.”

He had the grace to accept that with merely a raised eyebrow and then let it go. Enola’s tongue could be as sharp as his own at times and in recent times she had become relaxed enough with him to show it. Other times she still got impatient with any sign of paternalism. 

“I do not object. This is your house. As you say it is a question of economic efficiency to live here and no longer spend the considerable sums that living at the club permanently entails. You’re old enough now to be called a woman.”

“Thank you,” she said and laughed, “for recognizing it. Should I ring for tea?”

Her shoulders had visibly relaxed at his answer. He had promised her to treat her like he would any esteemed colleague - but with the surprising frequency of their cases overlapping and their professional paths crossing in unexpected situations they had found a friendly rivalry between siblings was often a nice way to keep things interesting. After all, solving the right case was a nice break from the boredom of everyday problems. 

That was in a way why he was here. 

He was about to elaborate on his real reason for the visit but she rang for tea - and his eyes fell on a small picture of watercolor painted flowers - white bell flowers and forget-me-nots. They had been painted by a quick but sure hand and signed AC.

His first thought was of their mother, but surely she would have signed her own name.

“Flowers?” he asked, remembering too well how he’d been schooled by his young sibling in the art of reading messages hidden in dainty petals.

“Lady Cecily is back in Vienna for a few days. The family has still not recovered from the…”

“Scandal?”

“The rift that her father’s actions have caused.”

He had heard only rumours that Lord Alistair had for a second time tried to push his daughter into an unwanted marriage.

“She came to you for help?”

“She reached out in friendship,” Enola said vaguely and smiled. “I have very few friends my own age and she’s very pleasant to converse with. We will have to stick to letters for a while, unless I find a reason to visit her in Vienna.”

He noticed there was a half finished drawing of a rose lying on the table - Enola’s hand this time. He wondered when his sister had started to color her penicled drawings. The first petals had been painted red.

* * *

A month later he accompanied Enola back to her home. They both enjoyed the brisk walk through London’s streets and it was as good a time as any to ask: “Have you acquired a blond curly wig of late?”

Enola laughed surprised. “Are you in need of one?”

“It would suit me poorly, sister.”

“Oh, I am not so sure,” she replied and laughed some more. “Why the interest in my latest acquisitions?”

“I was wondering. A young lady came to call at a client's home to inquire about the vanished daughter of the house.”

“Ah, the Hollyoak case?” 

“Of course, you know.”

“It is my work, too, you know? I find what’s lost.”

“I know, I know,” he answered, “which is why I wondered if the young lady had been you in disguise. It has been known to happen.”

“Oh,” Enola said softly. “No, Sherlock, it wasn’t me this time, you see…”

They had nearly reached their destination when a carriage stopped right in front of the door and a young woman in an expensive dress climbed out, carrying a bag that looked too heavy for such a frail beauty. But - Enola wasn't the first woman to teach Sherlock Holmes that looks could be deceiving. 

“Cecily,” Enola greeted her in delight.

“Celia,” the lady, who Sherlock had met as a timid girl who had gone through a terrible ordeal, corrected resolutely. 

Lady Celia? Hadn’t that been the name the young woman with the blonde curls had given his client? Another piece of the puzzle was falling into place.

“I am your new lodger,” she informed Enola with an assertiveness that reminded Sherlock much of Enola.

Enola laughed. “You decided?” She reached out and squeezed her friends hand. Then “Celia” grabbed her bag and marched up the stairs without giving him much of a second glance.

His sister smiled at him apologetically. “She has little patience for the world when she’s…”

“Celia? I see she’s favoring her left hand these days.”

“Celia is. Cecily… It’s complex.”

“I see,” Sherlock acknowledged and grinned. “You have grown close.”

“Everyone needs a right hand man,” Enola said with deceptive lightness that didn’t fool Sherlock even for a second, “or a left hand woman.”

He followed her up the stairs, even though he had no intention of taking advantage of her hospitality today and when there were things to sort out with her new lodger. Thinking of Watson, he advised: “Don’t let her write about you for the Strand. It’s not always a blessing.”

Enola laughed. “I am sure she will paint and nobody will see the story behind the picture.”

“That may be a better way to keep your methods your own.”

He squeezed her hand and then said: “I’m glad you’re not taking your name to heart.”

“Holmes?”

“Enola.”

Alone. The name their mother had given her to be an independent woman.

It looked like it would no longer mean she would have to go alone through life.

“I can’t hide much from you, can I?” Enola said softly. She was nearly twenty now and had repeatedly stated she wouldn’t marry. He had come to see her point. “This way she and I can be spinsters together.”

“Be happy and content,” he told her. “And warn me next time you send your friend to make inquiries in one of my cases.”

“My case,” Enola disagreed.

“We’ll see.”

She huffed, very un-lady-like. “The game is on then.”

“Enola,” Cecily called from inside and managed to distract her, pulling her away from her brother just with that friendly voice.

“Isn’t it always?” he asked Enola's back, taking his queue to leave.

After all, he had a missing heir to find - before his sister could outsmart him again. Hopefully her mind would be on other things for a few days, giving him the advantage.

**Author's Note:**

> [The Language of Flowers by Kate Greenaway](https://ia800905.us.archive.org/28/items/languageofflower00gree/languageofflower00gree.pdf)


End file.
